The Newspaper Man quickly sits down on the piano stool as Dubedat, in an invalid's chair, is wheeled in by Mrs Dubedat and Sir Ralph. They place the chair between the dais and the sofa, where the easel stood before. Louis is not changed as a robust man would be; and he is not scared. His eyes look larger; and he is so weak physically that he can hardly move, lying on his cushions, with complete languor; but his mind is active; it is making the most of his condition, finding voluptuousness in languor and drama in death. They are all impressed, in spite of themselves, except Ridgeon, who is implacable. B.B. is entirely sympathetic and forgiving. Ridgeon follows the chair with a tray of milk and stimulants. Sir Patrick, who accompanies him, takes the tea-table from the corner and places it behind the chair for the tray. B. B. takes the easel chair and places it for Jennifer at Dubedat's side, next the dais, from which the lay figure ogles the dying artist. B. B. then returns to Dubedat's left. Jennifer sits. Walpole sits down on the edge of the dais. Ridgeon stands near him. LOUIS [blissfully] Thats happiness! To be in a studio! Happiness! MRS DUBEDAT. Yes, dear. Sir Patrick says you may stay here as long as you like. LOUIS. Jennifer. MRS DUBEDAT. Yes, my darling. LOUIS. Is the newspaper man here? THE NEWSPAPER MAN [glibly] Yes, Mr Dubedat: I'm here, at your service. I represent the press. I thought you might like to let us have a few words about--about--er--well, a few words on your illness, and your plans for the season. LOUIS. My plans for the season are very simple. I'm going to die. MRS DUBEDAT [tortured] Louis--dearest-- LOUIS. My darling: I'm very weak and tired. Dont put on me the horrible strain of pretending that I dont know. Ive been lying there listening to the doctors--laughing to myself. They know. Dearest: dont cry. It makes you ugly; and I cant bear that. [She dries her eyes and recovers herself with a proud effort]. I want you to promise me something. MRS DUBEDAT. Yes, yes: you know I will. [Imploringly] Only, my love, my love, dont talk: it will waste your strength. LOUIS. No: it will only use it up. Ridgeon: give me something to keep me going for a few minutes--one of your confounded anti-toxins, if you dont mind. I have some things to say before I go. RIDGEON [looking at Sir Patrick] I suppose it can do no harm? [He pours out some spirit, and is about to add soda water when Sir Patrick corrects him]. SIR PATRICK. In milk. Dont set him coughing. LOUIS [after drinking] Jennifer. MRS DUBEDAT. Yes, dear. LOUIS. If theres one thing I hate more than another, it's a widow. Promise me that youll never be a widow. MRS DUBEDAT. My dear, what do you mean?